


Germ of an Idea

by pollitt



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-15
Updated: 2009-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a cold and proposal</p>
            </blockquote>





	Germ of an Idea

Around the time that John realizes that l's, d's and r's are no longer pronounceable, he concedes that, okay, fine, _fine_, he's got a cold.

And it's not just a runny nose, stuffy head, mildly annoying aching body kind of cold, like the one he had back when Lucius Lavin wreaked havoc on Atlantis. No, this is the kind of cold that has John out of commission quicker than a Wraith stunner, only without the promise of unconsciousness. Even his _hair_, down to its roots, hurts.

He expects Rodney to keep at a safe and antibacterially-fortified distance--over the years on Atlantis, they've all changed and grown, but Rodney's germ-phobia remains as strong as ever--but Rodney surprises him and stays.

"Where am I going to go? Crash on Ronon's couch? See if there's room in Torren's room?" Rodney says, handing John cold medicine a color that can only be described as nuclear green. "The snot and germs must be slowing your synapses. _These_ are my quarters. Lt. Casey moved into my bachelor pad when I moved in here, if you recall."

John's hearing might sound like it's under Atlantis's ocean, but he can hear Rodney's unspoken, affectionate, "you idiot" loud and clear.

"Have a good day at work, honey," John says (what it actually sounds like, however, is something closer to "hab a gud day at wook, unny") pulling the covers up to almost his ears.

"Get some sleep, Sheppard. You're delirious." Rodney runs his fingers over the hair at John's temple and then leaves.

John sleeps, waking up to semi-consciousness throughout the day to grab a sip of water, to hear the quiet shuffle of Rodney's feet across the floor as he checks up on him. At some point, at some hour that's not quite quitting time (if there was such a thing on Atlantis), John wakes up to the sound of something small and solid being set on a table on the other side of the room.

"How are you feeling?" Rodney whispers in reply to John's 'hmmmm" of acknowledgment.

"Like I got run over by a slightly smaller bus, maybe an SUV."

"At least it's an improvement."

John feels the bed dip and the _shhh_ of Rodney's clothes against the sheets of the bed as Rodney slides up behind him. Rodney's arm settles over John's side, his fingers brushing against John's wrist.

"What time 's it?"

"Not that late. It's a slow day and I wanted a break."

"Oh." John laces their fingers together.

When Rodney's cool, dry lips brush over the back of John's neck, John might (he's not really certain, what with his still-clogged hearing, and if he was certain, he's not going to admit it) just purr and feel better than he has all day.

Rodney's breathing slows and deepens and John follows suit, until their breaths are in sync and sleep is moments away. And it's that moment, when all defenses are nowhere to be found, that John says it.

"We need a house. On Earth. Our house. S'we can do this."

John feels Rodney's small exhaled laugh, feels Rodney's arms tighten around his chest.

"In sickness and health?" Rodney asked quietly.

"Yeah." John smiles through the sinus pressure. "Yeah?"

"Yes," Rodney answers, kissing John's neck again.

"Cool." John closes his eyes and dreams.


End file.
